


Shape of the Universe

by Sapphirine



Series: Burning Gold [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphirine/pseuds/Sapphirine
Summary: If someone asks Atsumu about their new apartment, he always starts by saying it’s “the best”.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Burning Gold [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916920
Comments: 11
Kudos: 162





	Shape of the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to this shitshow called Mugdha has no idea what she's written but she's gonna ignore her pending college studies and write SakuAtsu anyway.   
> why do my works keep getting shorter and shorter, someone please grant me patience and inspiration to write a long ass fic how the hell did i write my first fic, i wonder at times.   
> this is the second-last part in the series.   
> the next one will be bigger and better, I promise :D   
> hope y'all like it ;)

Osaka is not as pretty as Tokyo in autumn. Autumn in Tokyo is more golden than red; it makes it seem like the sun has bestowed a parting gift upon nature as summer slowly fades into chilly breezes-- the trees sprout sunlight instead of green leaves. Autumn in Osaka is so very  _ red--  _ it’s beautiful, no doubt, but-- jarring. 

Atsumu looks prettier in Osaka-autumn than he does in Tokyo-autumn. Strands of his golden hair flutter like little wings when they walk home together and they shimmer because of the sunlight streaming through the gaps between red-orange trees. The sight has robbed Kiyoomi of breath so many times-- blue-grey skies, sometimes clouds and sometimes not, phoenix-feathered leaves everywhere and Atsumu-- clear, sharp, all graceful lines and softly bright hues against the blurring colors in the background. 

Autumn is probably his favourite season. It’s Atsumu’s too; one of those rare things that they both agree upon. 

And that’s probably why they don’t argue when they pick out the curtains-- soft cream with faint maple leaves all over. Kiyoomi likes how detailed they are- the woven network of thin veins is so meticulous. Atsumu had laughed loudly when he told him he could just stare at them for hours and hours. 

“Well, forgive me if I don’t join ya,” he’d said with twinkling eyes, “some of us actually care ‘bout our career as a professional volleyball player.” 

Kiyoomi is eternally grateful for the mask he was wearing. It hid his smile when he whacked his boyfriend hard on the shoulder and left him whining in the curtain aisle of IKEA. Atsumu was petty enough to hit him back when he caught up and Kiyoomi is a just person which was why he let him. And if Atsumu could tell he was still smiling under the mask when his hand lingered on Kiyoomi’s shoulder, he was not brazen enough to pull it down and plant a kiss, much to Kiyoomi’s disappointment. 

* * *

If someone asks Atsumu about their new apartment, he always starts by saying it’s “the best”. 

If someone asks Kiyoomi about their new apartment, he always tells them the important details: it’s on the eighth floor, there are three bedrooms, two bathrooms, one living room that is as large as two of their bedrooms combined, a medium sized kitchen and- a huge balcony. Earlier, he used to start by telling how many square feet it is (3765, including the balcony) but, “That ain’t how ya tell people ‘bout yer new home, Omi, seriously!” 

Atsumu tried cracking a joke by saying “Now we’ve finally got enough space for all our nineteen babies-- let’s make ‘em twenty three, whatcha say Omi?” He was, of course, referring to their plants. But Hinata’s face rapidly paled upon hearing the figures nineteen and twenty three, “B-but Atsumu-san, how did you find a babysitter for all nineteen of them when we’re away for games?!” 

Kiyoomi was conflicted between wanting to tell Hinata that their  _ babies _ don’t need sitting since they’re not babies at all and poking more fun at Atsumu, who looked like he swallowed an entire coconut after another failed attempt at humor. (After a moment’s worth of pondering, Kiyoomi chose the latter because it seemed more enjoyable at the time. He regretted it later when his phone blew up with what it showed as 2385 notifications of various people crying, text-yelling or congratulating him on his nineteen babies; excluding the 40 messages and 12 missed calls from his parents and Motoya.) 

They end up making the number twenty five- their balcony is  _ really _ big and Kiyoomi doesn’t like the number 23 and Atsumu doesn’t want 24 because it’s an even number. They buy one of those swing chairs with a stand and a small teapoy. 

It had been summer when they’d stood there near the railing for the first time, Osaka was all dazzling blue skies and cicada noises. They stand there everyday, every evening now; today Kiyoomi is wearing a black sweatshirt and Atsumu a grey one and Osaka is all phoenix feathers and cool breeze and-- it’s still the first time. 

* * *

When their teammates come to visit for the first time, it is, as expected, absolute pandemonium. Adriah and Inunaki start fighting over the swing chair in the balcony. Bokuto spills apple juice on Kiyoomi’s spotlessly white tablecloth (Atsumu has to clutch him from behind like a koala to stop him from going inside their bedroom and not coming out for a week or sucker-punching Bokuto.) Hinata drags along with him an extremely uncomfortable looking Kageyama who gets a video call from Hoshiumi at some point during the evening and his yelling rises over the noise of seven (extremely) chaotic individuals. Meian tears up over photographs of Kiyoomi and Atsumu as captains of their high school teams for some incomprehensible reason. 

Just when he’s breathing out a sigh of relief as everyone settles down in the living room, watching a re-run of their matches, a squeak comes from the balcony and they find Barnes stuck in the swing chair. 

They do bring a nice housewarming present though- it’s a huge photograph of all of them, taken after their game with Adlers. Kiyoomi stares at Atsumu’s open laugh- he’s sweaty, basked in sweat and bright stadium lights. He turns to see real-Atsumu’s bratty commentary on his own good looks, but finds him fast asleep on the floor. 

* * *

They had to buy another cabinet for their bathroom because Kiyoomi’s cleaning supplies and Atsumu’s hair products don’t fit in one. The bathroom has white tiles with Japanese wave patterns on them (Atsumu’s pick). On off days, Atsumu likes to lie down in the bathtub for at least half an hour. He doesn’t turn on the light, instead brings a candle with him. Says he can see the waves moving in the flickering candle-light. Kiyoomi only joins him once to see whether he’s right about it, but they end up not looking at the tiles that day. 

He likes to watch how Atsumu’s hair turns a darker shade of gold when it is damp. Atsumu says he likes to watch water droplets gather in the pits of Kiyoomi’s collarbone- he swipes a finger on them as though he’s running it on the blade of a katana and then says that he wants to try eating cereals in them sometime. Cackles and jumps out of his reach when Kiyoomi moves to hit him. His kisses smell like fruits and taste like steam. It’s a different kind of hunger, so different than the one on court, but it feels eternal too, in its own different way. 

* * *

Osamu, when he comes to visit, rearranges 60 percent of their kitchen. Kiyoomi will never admit that it is better than before-- much more efficient. He will not. Atsumu yells at his brother for having shitty manners (and okay, Kiyoomi sees the hypocrisy in that) and Osamu replies by saying they were raised by the same parents so their manners are basically the same. Kiyoomi threatens to throw both of them out of the house if they let the banter escalate any further. (His respect for Kita Shinsuke sky-rockets.) 

Osamu roams around the place and criticizes everything that was picked out by Atsumu. They also fight over what to watch-- The Hunchback of Notre Dame or Spirited Away. (Kiyoomi starts watching Planet Earth II on his cellphone.) They argue about which new onigiri flavour is better-- the Italian one or the Mexican one; Kiyoomi briefly interjects this argument with his own input: umeboshi is better than all the other flavours and they tell him to shut up in unsettling synchrony. 

“Asshole,” Atsumu hisses under his breath and then lets Osamu use his coffee mug that he is extremely possessive about. 

“Dumbfuck,” Osamu mutters as he adds matcha powder in their Tamago Kake Gohan: Atsumu likes it that way. 

Kiyoomi goes to the balcony and looks at their twenty five plants as the twins video call their parents. There are vague sounds of laughing, yelling and Atsumu’s indignant squawks. He pulls up the hood of his jacket and stares at the sky-- the sun has set and it looks inky blue, not quite dark yet. He switches on the light and watches the leaves shine in its dull gold haze. The Hydrangeas look especially pretty today, he thinks, and wonders why. 

Osamu cooks what is probably the best home-cooked meal Kiyoomi has ever eaten that night. But he will never admit that. He will not. 

* * *

There is a certain spot-- seven diagonal footsteps from the kitchen entrance, in the direction of their guest-room-- Kiyoomi always thinks of it as the centre of their apartment. All the walls are equidistant from that point (not perfectly equidistant; sadly they can’t live in a square or circular apartment; but it will have to do for now). He likes to stand there on sleepless nights and restless days. There is something oddly therapeutic about standing in the midst of something-- being centered. Kiyoomi likes to stand there-- and breathe. He recites prime numbers in his mind, prime numbers between zero and hundred. 2,3,5,7,11,13,17…..97. Again. 2,3,5,7,11,13,17…...97. Again. On loop. 

He likes to stand there-- and kiss Atsumu. When he closes his eyes he thinks he can feel the floor spinning slowly, like the earth revolving around itself everyday. He’s centred and surrounded- the windchimes, the distant hum of traffic, a bird chirping: all sounds are somehow one. The magnanimity of his reality hits him in moments like this: it’s  _ their _ apartment, it’s  _ their _ space, it’s Atsumu and the brush of his eyelashes, tug of his fingers in Kiyoomi’s hair, taste of his voice when he whispers  _ Kiyoomi.  _

It’s on loop. 

It’s the first time all over again. 

* * *

Motoya brings him a matcha tea set the first time he visits. Atsumu is fast asleep at the time, so they quietly drag a chair outside and settle in the balcony. He sways on the swing chair and idly chatters about random things as he watches Kiyoomi make matcha tea for both of them. 

Motoya thinks autumn is prettier in Osaka. 

They end up playing volleyball somehow, as they always do. 

“Your home is beautiful,” Motoya says with his usual cheery smile when they are sweaty and panting, limbs sore. 

“Come again soon.” Kiyoomi allows a rare smile to slip for a moment and pretends he doesn’t notice when his cousin stills for a moment while drinking water. 

* * *

On a mediocre Thursday morning, Kiyoomi returns from his run and finds that Atsumu is still in bed, sheets pooled at his waist, staring intently at the window. 

“...What are you doing, Tsumu?” 

“Ya were right,” his voice is groggy from sleep but it’s strangely full of wonder, “I can really stare at ‘em for hours.” 

_ Curtains.  _

Wordlessly, Kiyoomi joins him. 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all wanna rant about anime, follow me on Twitter @[XxxAnm](https://mobile.twitter.com/XxxAnm)
> 
> Or my Tumblr @[nonsensicalfrickfrack](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard)


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